loud enough to wake me
by therewithasmile
Summary: He's a stripper, and yet he's still so irritatingly fascinating that she can't take her eyes off him. Stripper!Shikamaru - that's right, you heard me.


_I get challenged to do strange things on tumblr.  
This was a oneshot I particularly liked, especially seeing the reaction to it. I've decided that I will one day write more to this, perhaps turn this into a full story. But for now, enjoy the (blushing) Shikamaru that's present within the Hidens. _

_\- jak_

 ** _..._**

His eyes were dead.

It was kind of pitiful, actually, because in her eyes he was doing just fine. Maybe more than fine. Perhaps fine wasn't a strong enough of a word. Amongst the giggling girls who were watching with a little _too_ much interest, Temari had no qualms in making her stance obvious. Crossed arms, if anything a trace of her scowl on her face, her legs firmly on top of one another. Sure, she heard a whisper from the side, a suggestion to loosen up and to simply enjoy the performance, but how could she when it was blatantly obvious that even the performer wasn't?

Granted, he was putting on a good front. Aside from those uninterested eyes, well, his body was hewn. His hips thrust _j_ ustenough and, with a surprisingly precise twist, he whipped a chair in front of him. There was swooning and general fainting and Temari expected it had something to do with his tied up hair and the trace of sweat that clung to the tips like jewels. It was all calculated, _too_ perfect – like a puzzle, a game – and his eyes were dead.

And so after the bride-to-be squealed and stuck out her hand, he twisted out the way with a coysmile on his face. If anything, that alerted her – for the flash of teeth was something new, something exciting, but he resumed his sashaying, and then his hands reached for his pants.

Temari could at least admit she wasn't trying very hard to look away.

There was a collective sigh as _they_ fell to his ankles – and that smirk was back. His palms rested flat against the back of her chair, but the distance between their faces, Temari noticed, was so exact that even if his entertainee were to reach out, there would be no contact. Her interests shifted then, as his tongue darted out and licked his lips, before his hand moved once again to his hips, other rested sturdy to support himself, as she realized what this was to him.

Not quite a routine, but a game _._

It all clicked into place, and suddenly she was interested. Her legs unwound themselves and hands found themselves gripping her knees, leaning in as she noted it: the swift movement of his eyes, from his audience's face to himself. Calculating _._ And he moved, ever so slightly, twisted to give a fantastic view of his rear ( _that,_ too, was dangerously magnetic for her gaze) but just far away that the bridge-to-be could only sigh.

It was amusing, now, and _new_ parts of her brain reacted. Certain parts moreso than before, and _that,_ she expected, was unintentional. Either way he was entirely intriguing, as his hand reached back to wipe away his face, that almost piercinggaze sweeping from the woman in the chair to his larger, waiting audience.

Their eyes locked briefly. And then his eyes moved on.

But hers didn't. They _couldn't._ Not after that, not realizing that this was all calculations and – a test? Certainly so, she realized, as she noticed the tip jar. _Tip jar._ And he was a stripper, for God's sake.

And when the night was over and the bride-to-be (still quite red) had said her goodbyes, Temari hung around. Her drink still in hand, and a ten in the other. Of course, she didn't know _why_ she waited. There were a few moments when her feet told her to _go_ but, here she was, apparently adamant to wait until stripper-san came from the back room.

Those moments stretched, and soon the discomfort from her stance was too unbearable to wait. So she sauntered up to the jar, which could have been green for all she knew with the bills stuffed inside. And now it was even greener, she thought as she slid hers in as well.

And then her eyes met his.

He gave her a long look. A skin-tight black shirt and modest blue jeans, if Temari hadn't seen him practically naked beforehand, she probably wouldn't have looked twice. His eyes, though, still held hers, and she swore she had nothing to do with it even as he broke his gaze and looked down to the jar instead.

"Thanks," he said.

His voice was kind of rough. Younger than she expected. And so she couldn't help but to smile. "Anything for an entertaining game."

His eyes snapped back to hers.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Even the tone of his voice was a dead giveaway.

She shrugged. "The bride-to-be couldn't tell." She eyed the jar. "Actually, I don't think anyone could tell considering _that_."

He chuckled lowly, a throaty sound that was almost strange coming from his figure. "And yet you tipped me."

So she did. Despite everything – the dead eyes, the calculated movements, and admittedly, the hot body – it was still a _show_ that she came to see. "you performed well," she said truthfully.

A sliver of a grin crossed his lips. "May I buy you a drink?"

"Oh," Temari said amusedly, "So I can buy _myself_ a drink with the money I just gave you?"

His grin only grew wider. "You're sharp, aren't you?"

The words hung in the air for longer than she expected. And _something_ blossomed in her chest – warm, if not a little gratified. It was a different and yet not unwelcome addition to the _several_ things she'd felt this night.

 _Interesting man._

And so she found herself at the bar with him. It was just one drink – he was adamant on the whole "buy you a drink with your money" thing – and for a second Temari lingered on how he know she'd only tipped ten. Not the twenties and even a few fifties he'd made that night.

"So you treat this whole gig as a game," Temari said, stirring her straw once.

He paused from his beer. And then he sighed a little. "Not so much a game but, a test. And I make money off it."

"Sly," she said pensively.

He shrugged. "It works."

And she was feeling coy – perhaps a lingering side effect from the alcohol, his performance, his gaze, his _smile_ , as she leaned in ever so slightly. "And does this job also score you occasional bed partners?" A grin still on her lips, she expected a sly response, in the same almost disinterested yet terribly interesting way of his.

What she didn't expect was his face to suddenly turn bright red.

He didn't speak, didn't stutter, but _life_ –of all things – flooded into those _dead eyes_ and his cheeks a vivid flush, and it took all the willpower within her to stop herself from laughing.

This man certainly was _very_ interesting.


End file.
